


Cold

by Sintero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels may be cold, Dubious Consent, Enochian, M/M, PWP, but Lucifer is hot, just kidding Sam needs a jacket, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Samuel Winchester and, though you only meant it figuratively, you are officially fucked. PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Independence Day...here's some porn.
> 
> Porn wherein Sam gets mind fucked by Lucifer in more ways than one. Dubious consent abounds, so read with caution.

Your name is Samuel Winchester, and you are officially fucked.

In a last ditch attempt to save your brother from his own mulish ignorance you beg Castiel to tear through the protective Enochian sigils that mark your ribs in delicate loops and whorls. The angel is hesitant, but if there’s anyone he’ll break his dubious ethical code for, it’s Dean.

Dean, who is currently being held captive in a demon stronghold where the walls repel anything angelic in nature.

Like a dumbass.

Regardless, you force Castiel’s hand to your chest and roar to the heavens while tendrils of holy fire arc from his fingers and render your ribs sigil-free. The pain is so all-consuming that it blinds you and forcibly throws your body down to the threadbare hotel carpet. You moan and futilely claw at your heaving chest. But, half a day and countless salt rounds later, the lingering taste of agony and the post-traumatic fatigue of pulling your brother’s ass out of the fire (literally) are the least of your concerns. Your anti-Lucifer emblems are gone and you can’t rightfully ask Castiel to stop stitching the burnt molecules of Dean’s skin back together in order for you to have Satan-less dreams. Look at you taking a spin on the merry-go-round of Winchester martyrdom.

You gest, but the fact remains that Lucifer is in your head again.

He’s not as overtly threatening this time around; you can only tell that you have his attentions once more by the earthy taste of frost and ozone on the back of your tongue. _This is bad, this is so bad_ you think as you collapse onto an adjacent mattress and watch your brother’s angel pull him back from the brink.

The cold spreads from your tongue and blooms in your gut. Alarmed, you turn to call out, but lethargy takes hold of you and the call of warning dies in your throat. Your limbs bonelessly fall to your sides and your eyes roll back into the darkness of your skull.

_Lucifer._

You wake to find yourself nude and straddling the muscular thighs of a stranger seated on a throne hewn from dark stone. The first thing that strikes you is the unpleasant briskness of the air that makes you burrow into the strong chest beneath your cheek. Only then do you realize that he is the source of the chill. Ice flecks his high cheekbones and arches up into a finely etched crystalline lattice about his temples and forehead, reminiscent of a crown against his shockingly blonde hair. You uncertainly push up from the sharp planes of his body to meet his eyes. The sclera are as dark as the throne upon which he sits, punctuated by the most vivid shade of blue you have ever seen. He’s absolutely breathtaking. He smirks at your slack-jawed admiration and rubs a soothing hand through the length of your hair as you sit heavy in his lap.

Something in you wants to rail against his ministrations, wants to fight as if this man is the Devil himself, but it feels as if that part of you is being kept at an insurmountable distance. Despite the oddly discordant feeling in your stomach, your consciousness remains foggy and complacent to your current situation, and your body thirstily responds to this stranger’s every touch.

Leaning forward, he laves at the delicate juncture of your throat and collar bone, leaving slick trails of saliva that cool quickly in the crisp air. Everything about him is cold; his breath as it caresses the shell of your ear with the whisper of empty promises, his finger-tips as he delicately rakes his claws along the curve of your hips, his teeth as he lays bruising marks of claim against the paleness of your skin. He is immersed in a shroud of winter, so glacial that it feels like your skin is scorched where your pectorals press flush into his chest and your hips arch to grate against his own. He moans softly into your shoulder, the sound more reminiscent of the muffled grating of stone than anything human, and lifts his pelvis to meet you. His cock lays heavy between your bodies and twitches at the friction of your writhing. You grasp at his broad shoulders and rush to meet his lips in a deep, voracious kiss, charged with a level of lust and need that frightens you. The libidinous tongue that slips against your own threatens to swallow the last iota of your heat from the inside out.

The insistent voice of dissention is the least of your concerns right now.

Lucifer grips the back of your head, the muted crackling of ice sounding as he flexes his fingers around your skull, and pulls you so tight to him that you expect to be devoured. His other hand slides down the vertical indentation of your spine and over the gentle swell of your ass, leaving goose flesh in its wake. You point out this fact in aborted syllables between the desperate battle of lunging tongue and teeth. “You should know that angels are cold, Sam,” he states evenly as he finally breaks the kiss. You laugh at what you think is a fine joke.

God, he has a nice smile.

His nimble fingers knead the firmness of your buttocks and come to rest on the tight, pink ring of your entrance. Your breath catches and you shiver against the firmness of his body, though whether you shudder from the cold, the anticipatory fear, or the sudden arousal that flows into your loins, you can’t tell. He shifts your weight and presses your hips caudally up his stomach. Slick with dew and pre-come, you glide up him with ease, your erection briefly catching on his navel. His cock springs free from where it was forcibly pinned between your bodies, throbbing with the powerful beat of his heart, and nudges insistently at the juncture of your legs where his fingers are already actively embedding themselves in your body. You lick the loam-like taste of his saliva from your lips and glance down at the large, swollen erection standing proudly upon the apex of the deep V of his abdominals.

From his new vantage point he is free to nomadically suck deep purple welts into the skin of your jaw, your neck, and the junction of your collar bones. His teeth catch and he greedily sucks at the small wells of blood, serenaded by the sharp hitch of your breath and the drawn out moan with each subsequent bite. His fingertips gently swirl around the tight ring of muscle about your anus, pressing in teasingly shallow only to retreat each time you thrust your hips to meet them. He brings his other hand to your cock and gives a couple of strong pulls. The pre-come that stains his fingers quickly disappears between his pallid lips, drawing out a guttural moan at the bitterness on his tongue. Trails of wet heat bloom along your thighs as he traces the remnants of your arousal in meandering patterns, chilling into frost crystals almost immediately.

You suck in air through your bared teeth and claw at his back futilely. Your reward is a melodic laugh that resonates in the expanse of chilled air. “So impatient,” he drawls around a mouthful of flesh, glancing up at you with hooded eyes. In the caliginous room, his irises are such a bright blue.

Once more, a cry of warning breaks through the fog in your mind. You blink rapidly as if attempting to wake from a dream.

A mischievous smile blooms on Lucifer’s handsome face, belying the danger inherent in his attentions as he spreads your buttocks wide and enters you with a sharp, unexpected thrust. A scream builds in your chest but sticks in your throat. You can only release a gasping croak and throw your head back as he presses you down and forcibly impales you upon his frost-slick cock inch by frigid inch. It’s just as wintry as the whole of him and it feels as if you’ve been pierced by a massive, blunted icicle. He gently pulls your head down and touches your forehead to his own.

The approaching clarity in your mind rapidly recedes.

It’s a deceptively gentle gesture that calms you despite the painfully sharp stretch of his girth, where it sits stationarily embedded within you. Your entrance is on fire, over-filled and ill-equipped to handle his size. Nails trace down the struts of your rib cage, the delicate taper of your waist, until his large hands finally settle upon your hips. His thumbs caress the hollows between your tremulous stomach and sharp hip bones. It is only by the grace of his restraint that you aren’t torn in half, you think. Lucifer’s glowing gaze flashes down to meet your own and the respite is over. His grip tightens and biceps flex enticingly as you press your face into the corded muscle of his neck. You could never have imagined that sex could be this intense, that it could consume you completely and leave you an empty husk. But as his hips begin to smoothly piston in and out of your body, you believe. As the bulk of his shaft forcibly beats out a rhythm within you, you believe.

The perverse, squelching slap of your conjoined bodies echoes cacophonously in the near silence.

You don’t know how you know this man’s name, but as the sweet utterances of “Lucifer” echo softly from your lips with each panting expulsion of breath into the still air, you are rewarded with yet another grating rumble of pleasure that vibrates from his thorax through your entire being. The foundations of your humanity are torn from their mores when gentle words of praise wash over you, interspersed with the peculiar whine of his own static-like language.

His voice rises in a velvety tenor, dark and heavy with longing. The pit of your stomach clenches and your heart palpitates in counterpoint to the thrusts that rock your body. Every one of your senses is shrouded and wholly consumed by his frigid embrace. Each humid exhale that the plunging of his cock forces from you leaves a fine dusting of frost as it touches his skin beneath your questing lips. It seems that the bruising symphony of carnal desire lasts a lifetime before his skillfully rolling hips begin to thrust sporadically.

Your own climax has come and gone more times than you can count, drawing out grating moans from his blue lips as you scream your release to the heavens. Your cock stays preternaturally erect in the sticky mess between your bodies. Boneless, your drape yourself over his broad shoulders and like a lavacious scarf. You would collapse completely if not for the massive cock forcing the tilt of your pelvis to hold you up straight. His rhythm continues to falter and his hands clench your hips hard enough to bruise. He harshly pulls your pelvis flush with his own, buried to the hilt, and releases within you. The force of his orgasm tears through you in wave after wave of ice. Your bowels are suffused with tendrils of cold. The painfully abrupt temperature shift and the final pulsations of his cock violently tear yet another dry orgasm from you despite your cock being untouched. Your anus flutters and grasps at his still twitching member. It’s as close to heaven as you have ever felt.

He seems amused when you share this sentiment with him.

Lucifer relaxes back into the stone throne and lazily laps at the sweat beading on your neck, allowing his teeth to catch on your pulse point. His teeth and tongue meander for long moments until he finally pulls you close and nuzzles into your damp hair. “Enochian sigils or not, I meant it when I said you were mine, Sam,” he whispers into the side of your neck.

You honestly have no idea what he’s referring to, but this man is caring and gentle, and you could lay like this forever. And so you do.

You drape your arms around his broad shoulders and melt languorously into his bulk, his potent release trickling out of you as his cock softens and withdraws.

 

 


End file.
